


Everything Means Everything

by theyaskedmeto



Series: Everything Means Everything [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, BadBoy!Blaine, Canonical Character Death, Drinking, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Klaine, Kurt is like let’s make out and talk about poetry, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Skank!Kurt, Skank!Quinn, Smoking, Swearing, William McKinley High School, burt is kinda awful sorry, goth!tina, mentions of kurt's mums death, pls comment it fuels my ego and I will like you very very much, quinntina, there is a tina and quinn relationship but it's mainly klaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:41:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25589242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theyaskedmeto/pseuds/theyaskedmeto
Summary: Since his Mom’s death, Kurt Hummel has felt like he’s been forgotten and disregarded. Then, he meets a boy with curly hair, a nose ring, and painted nails. Enter Blaine Anderson.A story briefly inspired by Wendy Cope's poetry 'Giving Up Smoking' and 'The Orange'.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Tina Cohen-Chang/Quinn Fabray
Series: Everything Means Everything [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1866274
Comments: 32
Kudos: 101





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> hey!! she's back again...  
> This fic is so important to me, I've been working on it for the past month and I hope you all enjoy, I'm really proud of it!! just a quick mention that this skank!kurt badboy!blaine fic was inspired by  Tell Me, Was I Dreaming by klaineanummel and We Look Like Animals by staccato_rumble
> 
> Also, I'll be posting this fic in three parts. Next Chapter will come two days from now, and the last one will come two days after that, just because I like making you all suffer :))))  
> and just a shoutout to Wendy Cope, because her poetry is amazing and Giving Up Smoking is one of my faves. 
> 
> There is homophobia/homophobic language in this fic, please take note that I do not associate myself with any of it, it is purely the characters.
> 
> This fic is also for the people on twitter who were talking about goth tina and skank quinn together !! I can't remember who said it at the moment but yeah this one's for you ;))  
> ALSO thank you to Sim (porcelain-nightbird on tumblr) for making this beautiful cover art for me!! 
> 
> Enjoy :))))

__

_“There's not a Shakespeare sonnet  
Or a Beethoven quartet  
That's easier to like than you  
Or harder to forget._

_You think that sounds extravagant?  
I haven't finished yet -  
I like you more than I would like  
To have a cigarette.”_  
\- Wendy Cope, _Giving Up Smoking_

*

Kurt Hummel’s Mom dies on August 13th, 2008.

He knows it’s a thing that happens to everyone - death - he knows it would happen to his mom eventually and also his Dad and then someday, him. But hearing his Mother’s last heartbeat in the hospital, holding her hand, listening to the perpetual beep of the monitor sounding its final sign of life, it hits him how surreal the whole thing is.

He hears her last words, uttering to him and his Dad, the ‘I love you both so very much-’, the tears drying on her palling face, the tears drying on Kurt's face, the quiet sniffles of his Dad’s crying. And he holds her hand until it becomes a dead weight in his own. And he thinks, that’s it. That’s all I will know of my own mother.

They have the funeral a week later.

His Dad hasn’t been normal for a long time now; his mother’s illness was long and painful, and Kurt can’t remember the last time he saw him genuinely happy, but now he’s just… silent. Like the calm after the storm, but Kurt knows the storm is still going on, crashing and screaming and whirling. What he’s trying to say is, his Dad may be silent, but he knows this is the worst of it.

His Dad holds Kurt’s hand as his mother’s coffin is lowered into the grave, and Kurt hears the trying-to-be-silent sobs of his Dad, and he looks at him, and his father is just staring at the grave being lowered, no tears, but just little sobs shaking his body. Kurt strokes his thumb.

After the funeral, they all gather at the reception in Lima and reminisce on his mother’s life. Kurt doesn’t think he can take any more sentiment, although he loved his Mom very much, he needs to be alone right now. Currently, he’s talking to a distant friend of his Mom’s, he can’t even remember her name, but she’s very teary and recalling of a time when they all went out to the park for a picnic with the kids (Kurt being one of these kids, along with some other childhood friends of his who all go to different schools now and have grown apart since then) and obviously, she says, you wouldn’t remember because you were just a tiny thing, toddling along in your dungarees, and Kurt cringes at the idea of that because there’s no way anyone would see him choosing to wear a pair of dungarees in public, even when he’s working at the garage with his Dad. Nevertheless, he smiles and agrees with the lady, thinking of how lovely his Mom was.

_Was._

He tries not to cry, but it’s hard when the one person you want the most right now will never be there again.

*

“Dad, I’m gay.”

There’s a silence for what feels like forever, and then his Dad says, “oh.” And just… stares back at his son.

So Kurt says, “I… is this okay with you? Dad?” And he feels like he can’t breathe. Someone’s tied a rope around his throat, pulled it hard, and he’s struggling for the small bits of air that he can hardly grasp. And his Dad is still just staring at him. Opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something, but then closes it as no words come out. And Kurt’s head is just going, over and over and over and over, Dad, please just say something, anything, I need to know because I love you Dad, I really do, I might not show it and we’re very different people but you’re my Dad and I want you to love me the same just Dad, _please_ –

His Dad finally murmurs, quietly, “This is a lot for me to process, Kurt,” and they’re both still staring at each other, and the rope around Kurt’s throat is still pulling pulling pulling, as Burt coughs into his hand, trying to right himself, takes a deep breath in, saying, “I think you should go to your room.”

Kurt’s confused because he just- he doesn’t know what this _means,_ it’s such a mixed answer and the words just don’t make sense in his brain, he’s trying but they just don’t add up, so all he says is “okay.” and turns back towards the staircase down to his room in the basement.

His Mom would know what to do. But she’s been dead for nine months, now.

He makes it to his room and collapses on the bed, stares at the ceiling. It’s white. And he thinks, wouldn’t it just be so much easier if the whole world were like that ceiling. Plain. Unopinionated. You come home and you bring someone special to you and your Dad doesn’t say anything about the fact that you’re a boy dating a boy, or a girl dating a girl, he just welcomes you and your loved one in with open arms, no matter what he believes in, says, I’m making pasta, do you want some? And you both say, yes! Thank you, that would be great! And then you live happily ever after in a lovely little non-judgemental bubble of acceptance.

But life, he realises, just isn’t like that. Some people just aren’t as open-minded or as intelligent as others. People have different opinions, and beliefs, and some people might even tell you, this, this right here, is what shapes the world. But Kurt doesn’t think that. If we were to all agree on everything, it would be so much easier to live here. And he thinks that a lot of people who were like him too would also think that.

Neither Kurt nor his Dad mentions anything on that subject again.

*

Two years later, Kurt’s Dad remarries.

Carole is a lovely woman, really, she is, and Kurt’s seen her son Finn around because he’s the quarterback of the football team at McKinley, and he’s nice too, but a little stupid, Kurt thinks. He’s also not like Kurt, he doesn’t understand him the way his Mom understood him.

He can safely say he doesn’t talk to Finn very much, and Finn doesn’t really get the whole ‘being gay’ thing. And Carole, well. Carole just isn’t Mom. Her hair is dyed the wrong sort of red, whereas his Mom’s hair was a perfect shade of natural blonde, and honestly, Kurt thinks, I could’ve done a good job at that if Carole just came and asked me.

He’s got experience with that sort of thing now, having dyed some streaks of his hair pink last summer just for the fun of it and then re-dying nearly all of it when his Dad announced to Kurt that he’d found someone new, and Kurt had (in his Dad’s words, definitely not his) ‘a bit of a tantrum’. It was fair though, Kurt thought, his Mom had only died a year ago then - everything was moving on too fast.

The ceremony is held outside of town on a farm. If Kurt was two years younger, he would probably worry about getting dirt on his designer suit, but he’s not fourteen anymore, and Kurt doesn’t care for that now - he’d rather not be wearing a designer suit, but his Dad bought it for him especially on eBay in the high hopes that Kurt would ‘be like his old self’ again and hopefully take out his lip ring and eyebrow piercing for such a ‘special occasion’. Kurt didn’t agree and decided to pierce his nose instead. There was no way he was going back to being his meek little fourteen-year-old self.

Through the wedding, Kurt doesn’t even shed a tear. He’s learnt, since his mother’s death, that it’s easier to just be neutral and in the background, rather than making a scene. Of course, he goes up to the front to say a few words about his Dad and Carole’s budding love, (as much as he doesn’t believe in that - he’s more fond of nameless guys and good fucks from time to time, a brush of a fingertip be damned), and people clap, and he smiles, but he honestly isn’t enthusiastic about the whole idea. He’s also incredibly apathetic at the fact he now has a stupid, uninformed stepbrother who knows nothing about him as a part of his family now, as well.

The best man is making his speech now, one of Kurt’s Dad’s friends from the garage, Gary, Kurt thinks his name is, but honestly he really can’t be quite sure. It’s been a while since his Dad has really talked to anyone but Carole.

“I am so happy to see how far Burt here has come.” he smiles, and nods to Kurt’s Dad who is sitting at the table with Kurt, Carole and Finn, who are now, Kurt realises, his step-Mom and step-brother. _Oh god,_ he thinks, _this day really couldn’t get any worse,_ and realises he’s tuned out of Gary’s speech when he hears the sound of laughter echoing around him, then sees his Dad _glaring_ at him when he notices that he hasn’t been paying attention. Kurt turns his gaze back to Gary, who is now telling a very graphic story about him and Burt of a drunken night walking around Lima as teenagers which Kurt would have rather preferred to have been kept untold.

After the speech, he hangs around the dancefloor for a while and doesn't really do much. Finn asks him to dance, but Kurt declines his offer because he really is not going to let his pride stoop _that_ low. He just watches his Dad and Carole from a distance, sipping on the champagne that his Dad allowed him to drink for once, and maybe that is the only good thing about this reception, even though he really could’ve done with some vodka rather than expensive champagne that Carole insisted on because _it’s my wedding day, Burt,_ and obviously, his Dad just couldn’t resist saying yes.

After the wedding, they make their way to the hotel, and Kurt and Finn have to share a room, which is awful because Finn snores.

Kurt normally doesn’t get much sleep anyway, because his thoughts always keep him awake, _stupid fucking thoughts,_ but now he is guaranteed to be awake for much longer than was already guaranteed, forced with no mercy to listen to the breathless snorts of so-called ‘breathing’ for another (at least) four hours.

*

Kurt loves the warm feeling of nicotine at the back of his throat, filling his lungs.

It’s Senior Year now, which means more pressure, more work. Kurt’s good at skipping classes though. He has a policy - anything that isn’t English or Maths (which are the two most important subjects) can get fucked, and he will choose to skip them, depending on how he feels on the day.

He’s standing under the bleachers with the skanks, eyes skimming through words as he continues with the chapter of his current book, Great Expectations by Charles Dickens- it’s rather dull, he couldn’t be interested if he tried, no matter how much he likes to read. For once he agrees with people taking literature at his school that quite a few of the ‘classic’ books are irrelevant.

At the moment, however, there are only one of the other skanks with him, but it’s where they all hang out anyway. It doesn’t matter; it’s not like he talks to any of the others - he’s only really friends with the infamous Quinn Fabray.

It’s funny how things can change, Kurt thinks, how Quinn used to be the most popular girl at school, leader of the cheerios, the girl with the straight A’s… but she decided to change her tune last year. Kurt prefers it - it suits her, this vicious mystery surrounding her. Also, the fact that she really just doesn’t give a fuck about anything; she’s great to be around, and a good friend, much better than Rachel or Mercedes ever were.

Kurt knows where he belongs now, he’s one of the Skanks, joined them at the end of last year. And it feels good, he knows it does, as he takes another inhale of the cigarette held between his fingers, flicking onto page one hundred and three.

Breathes in the smoke again, waiting a moment then blowing it back out. He sighs as Quinn groans on about her most recent conquest, knowing that she doesn’t really care about her anyway, it’s just something Quinn likes to do from time to time, find a girl, lead them on, give them fake signals. It’s what Quinn would define as ‘fun’ but Kurt isn’t too sure. It’s way too much effort anyway.

“And I just don’t understand why she won’t talk to me, like, this isn’t a one-time thing this time Kurt, I’m serious, I care about her-”

Kurt lets out a huff in dismay, finally closing his book, “Quinn honey, honestly... you know you don’t really care. This happens every few months with a different girl each time-” he tries, but Quinn breaks him off with a scowl, staring at him and before Kurt can even let out a “What?” in disagreement, she’s snatching the cigarette out of his fingers and throwing it on the ground and snuffing it out with her combat boot, giving him a sly smirk.

Kurt glares back at her, “What the fuck, Quinn!” he says, and Quinn just smiles.

“Sweetie, I know you’re right, but I’m not listening to you right now.”

Kurt, now in a worse mood than he was before, which was already bad - stupid fucking Shuester with his Spanish, no eating in classrooms rule (or, the way he says it, in an incredibly bad Spanish accent, no comer en las aulas, really, one of these days Kurt thinks that teacher’s going to be fired for hardly knowing any Spanish at all) - leans back against the metal poles that are nailed against the back of the bleachers, head cocked on one side, examining her. Quinn’s still smiling at him, that little ‘I-did-something-wrong’ smirk that always gets to him. She may be a good friend at heart, but _God_ is he going to punch Quinn Fabray someday.

“You know you owe me another cigarette now.” He claims, eyebrows raising as he watches Quinn look back at him.

She obviously doesn’t agree, Kurt can see that because it’s a thing she does, where she raises her eyebrows and smiles sarcastically at him, the same way Kurt’s Dad does when he smells smoke on him - something that Kurt really doesn’t like to be reminded about.

“I think you owe me for trying to tell me what to do with my love life.” She challenges, arms folded.

Kurt says nothing, only grabs the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, pulling out another and lighting it, taking another puff from it when the little orange flame dies down, ignoring Quinn. He normally doesn’t do this when the rest of the skanks are around - pull out a big packet like that - he does smoke around them, of course, he does, it's just… it’s like pulling out a bag of sour patch kids around a bunch of nerds in the cafeteria - once they all see you have something like that, they suddenly all swarm around you like bees, asking to light one, and he really hates sharing things. He only shares cigarettes with people he’s close to.

When he looks back up and sees Quinn grinning at him, he hands her one and the lighter. He can share things with Quinn. She’s probably the person he’s closest to anyway.

That’s when he hears the shouting, the perilous yells of Coach Sylvester and her megaphone ordering around her pack of cheerios like some sort of World War Two general. Normally, Kurt and Quinn wouldn’t care at all for the sounds of her bellows, but after last week when they almost got caught smoking and skipping PE class and were very close to facing Sylvester’s merciless wrath (suspension for two weeks and a semester’s worth of detentions) Kurt decided it was better to leave unharmed rather than face her and then his Dad, who would not be very excited over the fact that his son who _used_ to be (in his words) an angel, always on best behaviour, used to cry when he saw other parents telling their children off at the mall, is now on two weeks suspension.

So, they leave, Kurt dragging Quinn out from under the bleachers by the cuff of her oversized denim jacket, holes all over there now; he’s pretty sure Quinn hasn’t taken it off since the day she found it lying on the side of that fence on the outskirts of Lima that night.

Kurt thinks they’ve made the all-clear when they turn round the corner of Block A, very close to the bleachers, but then he hears Sue with her megaphone shouting, “You two! Skanks! Get over here! Now!” And Quinn pokes her head around the corner of the brick-walled building, arms folded, one eyebrow raised slightly.

They weren’t bunking PE this time, so hopefully, the punishment would not be as severe. At least that’s what Kurt hopes because he’s already hanging onto the last straw with his Dad, having got home quite drunk a few nights ago and past curfew after a night smoking at the park with Quinn.

“Get out from behind there!” Sylvester calls through her megaphone, that automatic scowl on her face.

They follow her orders because Kurt really can’t risk it this time, and Quinn is also aware of that. She is a good friend at heart.

“You both look ugly, and you smell disgusting.” The Coach mutters, eyeing both Quinn and Kurt up and down.

Quinn’s growing tired already - Kurt can feel it - probably because they both had to stomp out their cigarettes just as they lit them, and honestly, _what a waste that is._ So she speaks.

“What d’ya want, coach?” she asks, not really because she cares, more just because she’d like to find out what their punishment will be and get this over and done with.

“Very funny, Quinn. You know, I once saw you as a young Sue Sylvester, but obviously not as pretty,” Sue says, and Kurt scoffs, because he doesn’t need this right now, and neither does Quinn. “But now you’ve gone completely off the rails I’m just going to have to put you in detention,” she continues, pointing a finger at both of them, then raises her megaphone to her mouth again, shouting straight into it, “for a month!” and then lowers it again, giving them a stern stare and leaning forward slightly.

Neither Quinn nor Kurt jump at all at the sudden volume, which Kurt can see Coach Sylvester is disappointed at.

Instead, Kurt frowns. “Coach, we didn’t even _do_ anything-” he starts, and Sue lifts her megaphone again, “I think you’ll find, my-not-so-sweet-anymore Porcelain that you are wrong. Smoking on school grounds is-” she shouts into her megaphone again this time, “against school policy!”

They still don’t jump, and Coach mutters something like “God, you used to be so entertaining.”

It’s times like this that Kurt wishes Quinn Fabray didn’t use to be the most popular girl at school, the captain of the cheerios, and the girl with all the straight A’s. Because he knows there really isn’t any way of getting out of this, and god his Dad is going to kill him when he gets home-

“Get back to class.” Coach Sue mutters again, still into her megaphone, giving them both one long, hard stare, standing very still, and then suddenly making a swift turn to turn back to her pack of cheerios, where she will continue to boss them about for another half-hour.

*

Quinn gets put in another room for detention, so they don’t ‘distract others’. It’s not fun when no one else is there to talk to you in situations such as this. (Not that they’d be allowed to talk anyway, but it’s fun to bend the rules).

He’s been sitting there in silence for thirty minutes, nothing to entertain himself with other than the tick-tick-ticking sounds of the clock on the wall. He’s been counting them for a while now, but it’s a lost cause.

In his pocket, he remembers, is a packet of gum. If he could just reach in there unnoticed, pull it out, lose himself in the minty goodness for just a few minutes, maybe it would take his mind off the smoke he desperately needs filling his lungs… just a little distraction…

But his eyes meet with Mrs Jackson, the old lady on detention duty, across the room and he decides against it.

Twenty minutes or so later, nearly the end of the detention, the door opens and a boy enters the room hurriedly. Kurt takes a moment to look him up and down, his head turning as he leans against his fist on the desk. He’s got a nice figure, this boy, broad chest and probably broad shoulders and arms, too, if they weren’t covered by the thick leather jacket this... okay… decidedly handsome boy is wearing. His hair is dark on his head, messy curls framing his face, and he’s slightly out of breath as he walks down to the back of the room, two desks away from where Kurt is sitting. Their eyes catch for a moment, and Handsome Boy’s mouth twitches for just a second. Kurt realises how nice his eyes are.

Handsome Boy says, “Sorry I’m late, Miss…” but trails off, leans forward to try and get a closer look at her lanyard, even though that’s a complete waste of time because she’s obviously way too far away for him to read it, “nevermind. I’m late. I can explain, you see-”

He’s cut off by Mrs Jackson as she hisses, “You are so late, Mr Anderson, that in five minutes it will be the end of this detention. Sit down and stay silent, and if you do, maybe we’ll let you both out on time.”

 _So, his last name is Anderson._ Kurt thinks. _Suits him. He’d definitely be a good fuck, that’s for sure…_

He watches as Anderson just smirks at Mrs Jackson, happy that he’s found a way to bypass the detention somehow, and Kurt just wants to punch that pretty face so bad because _god_ he’s been sitting here for nearly an hour now-

They do stay silent, and once the teacher dismisses both of them from the class, although keeping Anderson for a few minutes for a word about his punctuality or some shit, Kurt shoots straight out the door like he’s wanted nothing more in the world. (Which is kind of true, but now he needs a cigarette more, and stat).

Kurt’s rushing through the deserted McKinley corridors, now bereft of students since the bell went one hour ago when he hears footsteps of someone trying to catch up with him. He ignores it, for a while anyway, because it’s probably a teacher, and continues to make his way to the nearby park where he hopes Quinn will be waiting for him.

He’s halfway there when he hears a voice, the same voice from the classroom shouting, “Hey! Wait up!” and he turns around, face deflating as he sees Anderson standing there.

“What?” Kurt deadpans, giving the boy no indication of any interest he may have in him.

Anderson is a little breathless, he must have been walking quite fast trying to catch up, and he runs a hand through his curls.

“I’ve heard about you,” he says, and Kurt can sense something on his face. Nervousness, he thinks, “Kurt, isn’t it? Kurt Hummel?”

Kurt’s surprised because he really doesn’t think anyone has heard about him or really gives a shit. They’re not like The Cheerios or the jocks, no one really notices them at school and he’s pretty certain he’s not seen Anderson around before, so it’s a bit of a mystery to him that this random boy with black painted nails and nose piercing knows his name. Still, though, he decides to play along with whatever game this Anderson boy is trying to come up with.

“Yes. And who are you?” He asks.

“Blaine. Blaine Anderson?” the boy continues and Kurt tries to hide his chuckle because the way he says his name is like everyone knows who he is, “I just transferred from Dalton.”

Kurt frowns. “You mean the boarding school?”

Blaine lets out a huff and there’s a little smile on his face like he’s hiding something, “Yes, but that’s not the point here. What I’m asking is… can I be one of you? You know… part of The Skanks?”

Silence. Kurt’s head cocks to one side for a moment, not really knowing what to do. They don’t really get asked questions like this, normally someone just ends up joining randomly and no one can be fucked to tell them to leave. Nevertheless, he appreciates the civility (of some degree, anyway) but he really doesn’t care at all for this and Quinn’s going to ditch him if he doesn’t make it to the park sometime soon.

So he settles on this: “The Skanks aren’t taking any new members at the moment.” and turns to leave.

More footsteps behind him, “No! K- Wait! Kurt, wait!” but Kurt ignores him because he needs a cigarette and he’s not gonna let some lame transfer stop him from being late.

He soon loses the sound of footsteps behind him.

*

Kurt sees Anderson again a week later on a Monday night; he’s sitting on the swing in _his_ park, smoking, lighter in the one hand, cigarette in the other, held up between his fingers at his lips. There are little shrieks of the swing squeaking as he pushes himself back and forth slightly with his feet. He’s wearing the same leather jacket as he did the last time Kurt saw him and he wonders if he ever takes it off.

“Why are you here?” He asks because he really wasn’t expecting to see Anderson any time soon; he hasn’t been in any of his classes yet, thankfully (not that Kurt had been in many classes this week - he’d skipped quite a few).

“What do you think I’m doing?” The handsome boy answers, and then continues, taking another puff of the cigarette, “want one?”

It’s a little dark, the moon will soon become the only light in the park, and there’s that cold haziness of the autumn night as the sun falls behind the buildings and the trees. It’s mostly set now, and the sky is stained like watercolour; clouds of pink and grey, fading into black.

Kurt’s leaning against the railings that close off the sides of the park. Through the dusk, he can still see the smoke puffing out through Anderson’s lips and the brightness of the orange flame as he inhales some more. It tempts him, reminds him that he hasn’t taken a hit in a few days, because his Dad had forced him to work at the garage with him over the weekend, much to his dismay.

So, he decides. “Yeah, fine.” And walks towards the handsome boy, sitting in the other swing next to him as Anderson passes him the lit cigarette.

Kurt takes it, frowning slightly, says, “I thought you had one more?”

Blaine chuckles, not making eye contact with Kurt, just stares out at the trees ahead. “Saving the rest of the pack. D’ya want it or not?” then meeting his eyes.

Kurt laughs lightly, shaking his head, then sighs as he feels the smoke filling the depths of his lungs. The warmth. He pushes his feet on the ground, and his swing screeches too as it starts moving in a gentle back and forth.

It’s quiet for some time, no words uttered, just the sound of the wind rustling through the trees gently as the two boys pass the cigarette. It stays like that for a while, until Kurt perks up again, asking Anderson a question.

“How come you transferred?” He asks.

Another huff from Anderson again, he’s looking down at the ground like he’s thinking, amused. Kurt takes this moment to notice the delicacy of his eyelashes, how they fan over the tops of his cheeks, his little smile as he holds onto the chain of the swing.

“My Mom sent me to Dalton last year after I got expelled from Westerville High,” He begins, “they said if I behaved last year, they’d send me back to a normal school.”

Kurt just… chuckles. The way he says it is like he’s trying to brag, and really… if he’s saying that as a way to get into the skanks, he’s going to have to try harder.

“You’re joking, right?” He scoffs, finally meeting Anderson’s gaze, “You, of all people, got expelled from Westerville?”

“Do you really think I’d be lying to you?”

Kurt, a little annoyed with himself, breaks his eye contact, just looks out at the trees ahead of them.

They talk a bit more for a while and it turns out that they actually do have quite a lot in common - parents who don’t understand them - Anderson says how his Dad completely cut him off when he came out as gay (unless when he turns up randomly to give him money) and now he stays with his Mom (his parents divorced three years ago), who’s rather strict and isn’t really in the house much, always on holiday in some tropical resort with her girlfriends, Anderson explains it’s what she likes to call them, and Kurt could just cry out in terror because Carole’s always talking to her ‘girlfriends’ too over the phone - completely pointless conversations about weekend plans and What the Kids Have Done Now. Kurt decides to ignore the feeling of triumph when Anderson mentions he likes boys too.

“It’s the same for me, too,” Kurt says, looks at Anderson again, passes the cigarette back to him and the boy inhales some of the smoke, “I mean, not the whole ‘losing contact’ thing, but… when I came out, he just… he didn’t really say anything. He’s never talked to me about my sexuality since that moment,” he takes a breath again; he hasn’t really talked about this to anyone, not even Quinn, and he tries to ignore the way it’s so easy to talk to the other boy about this sort of thing. Opening up. And then, he continues, “We’ve always had a strained relationship. My Mom died when I was fourteen, I-”

He’s cut off by Anderson again, realises how the boy is staring at him as he just mumbles, “Shut the fuck up.” and moves towards Kurt, swing twisting about him, still holding the cigarette, capturing his lips in a kiss.

It’s a surprise to Kurt, and his eyes are wide open for a moment as Anderson kisses him, but then understands what’s happening, closes his eyes and kisses back, wrapping his arms around the boy’s back.

They break apart a moment later, Kurt unwrapping his hands around the curly-haired boy’s back, both staring at each other, Kurt staring into Anderson’s hazel eyes, him staring back into his blue ones.

When Kurt looks down once more, he gestures to the packet of cigarettes now hanging out of Anderson’s pocket. “D’ya think I can have the rest of the pack now?” He asks.

“Nah. ‘M saving them. Maybe if you come back here Friday I’ll have some more for you?”

Kurt smirks, “smooth, Anderson.”

*

“Have you ever heard of Blaine Anderson?”

Kurt’s sitting on one of the discarded benches one of the gym teachers dumped behind the bleachers, which (he thinks, anyway) really says a lot about this shithole of a school.

There’s another cigarette in his mouth once again and looks at Quinn as he sits with her during free period.

They have this way of communicating with each other; little looks which can drive each other mad sometimes. It’s like they both know each other so well - they’ve both been through a lot in the past year that they’ve become friends - they just know each other’s little pet peeves and things that rile them up. After spending every day together, they can just send each other looks which communicate exactly what they’re thinking. Which is why Quinn’s ‘I’ve-done-something-wrong” look always annoys Kurt so much.

Quinn just gives off a shrug, which normally means that she either doesn’t really care about whatever her friend is trying to tell her or that she might know something but _honestly Kurt, it’s not that big of a deal._

“If you elaborate on this question, then I may know something.” Is all she hints.

There it is again. The mystery. For god’s sake, one day he really will punch Quinn Fabray.

“I met him in detention last week,” Kurt says, “He’s hot. He met me again at the park a few days ago - we smoked together. I was just wondering if you knew him, is all.”

Quinn, now more intrigued than she just was at the mention of a potential boy, stubs out the cigarette against the old gym bench, throws it on the ground, straightens her back slightly. Hopes this isn’t just a temporary interest - those happen a lot with Kurt, someone to entertain him for a while and then just leave behind - because she sees the way her friend’s cheeks redden a little, how his eyes focus down at his boots and fingers pick at the thread of his ripped jeans to give him something more interesting and less overwhelming to do than to look at her. It’s what he does when he feels vulnerable or embarrassed or talking about something he actually cares about - a once in a blue moon occurrence.

“I haven’t heard of him, no,” She says eventually, “he doesn’t sound like the hot type if you ask me. Blaine Anderson. Such a-” pauses just for a second in search of the right word, “...tidy name.”

Kurt’s staring at her, taking another puff of the cigarette and blowing the smoke out through his nose. There’s a hint of humour on his face - Quinn can see it - as he agrees.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “He came up to me and asked if he could be…” he gestures between the two of them, pointing a finger and Quinn and then himself, then motioning to the whole area around the bleachers, “you know. One of us.”

Quinn hits his shoulder as she replies almost instantaneously, “What the fuck, Kurt? People don’t ask to join The Skanks, they just do. Who is this boy anyway?”

“I said already, Quinn. I met him in detention. He smoked with me in the park yesterday.”

 _“Our_ park?”

Kurt tries to suppress the exasperation in his voice, “...Yes, Quinn. Our park. He was sitting there already when I came. I didn’t plan to meet him or anything, he was just there. Offered me a cigarette and I was running low so I said yes.” he raises his eyebrows like he’s asking _‘got a problem with that, Quinn?’,_ looking up at her and she’s staring down at him, and he can see the disgust on her face.

He doesn’t worry; he knows this town. He knows how close-minded it is and how shitty it excels to be even when it’s at its best; there’s a reason Quinn is overprotective. Like last summer when she and Kurt had only been hanging out for around a month and Quinn had her most recent love interest with her, someone she’d met a summer ago who she _did_ actually have feelings for; a girl called Harmony - light dyed pink hair with highlights, an angel, she was. They’d been on and off for a few months but eventually, it didn’t work out, when her parents moved her to Chicago, something about her mother’s work. He remembers how they’d all found a spot in the park that they claimed as theirs, a patch of grass outside of the play area, sat down and just smoked and chatted together about everything. He remembers how those boys had walked passed and threw stones at Quinn and Harmony as she tried to kiss her.

He remembers wishing, hoping, Quinn would wake up in the hospital, crying, holding her hand, trying to forget how this reminded him awfully of his Mom.

He understands.

“No Kurt, it’s totally fine,” She answers, detecting the message in his facial expression as they always do, “I get it. Go fuck him, you know I don’t care, do whatever. Don’t worry.”

Kurt just laughs, because it’s true; he’s not planning anything with Anderson that could lead to something big anyway - he _was_ a good kisser, as Kurt predicted, and he knows that the tried and tested theory of ‘if they can kiss well they can probably suck someone off well too’ is very successful, but this doesn’t mean it’s going to be anything more. The fact that this particular boy wears a leather jacket and paints his nails black and white and has a nose ring doesn’t change that at all.

Quinn sits on the bench with Kurt, takes the cigarette from him when he offers it, inhales. They’re both looking out at the field between the bars of the bleachers and they watch as some of the girls from the cheerios practice their routine.

“I have a feeling there’s something you’re not telling me,” Quinn says after a while, “you sure all you did was smoke together?” she turns to him, raises an eyebrow.

Kurt chuckles, answers quite quickly. “We may have kissed.”

Quinn, now satisfied, rolls her eyes and takes another drag from the cigarette.

“I knew it.”

And that’s how they stay for a while, seated on the old gym bench, looking out over the field, pink hair blowing in the wind.

*

Kurt meets Anderson again on Friday like he’d said that evening in the park. Same place, same time.

The boy’s sitting on the swing like he was last time, but he’s not smoking. In fact, when Kurt gets closer, he can see a bottle of vodka on the ground next to the swing post with two plastic cups placed on top of the lid.

“What is this, Anderson? A date?”

He turns when he hears Kurt’s voice, looks him up and down for a moment, says “Well. Do you want it to be, Hummel?”

One kiss. That was all it was.

“Shut the fuck up,” Kurt shakes his head slightly, sits down on the swing next to him, “so… you not got any cigarettes then?” and gestures to the bottle sitting on the floor, which the other boy picks up, says, “Maybe if you stay here for a while I will.”

And Kurt just wants to slap him.

Instead, he meets his eyes, raising his own eyebrows a little when Anderson takes the plastic cups off the top of the bottle, handing one to him, and Kurt waves his hand in the air, a way to brush it off.

“We don’t need those,” Kurt says, “It’s not a fucking picnic, for god’s sake.”

“Fine.”

Anderson takes the first sip from the bottle, hardly scrunches his face as he feels the alcohol travel down his throat, but Kurt’s watching him, sees the way his hands close into fists, scratching at the varnish on his painted nails as he swallows, and Kurt concludes that really, it’s all just an act.

He doesn’t really understand why Anderson has to pretend for him; Kurt likes to show openly that he doesn’t give a shit - he’s done it so much when he’s around Anderson already it’s like he wants him to know. He shakes that thought off though - he can’t get sappy at times like this. Stay civil, stay cool, and honestly, for the love of God, don’t even acknowledge the touch of a fingertip. He’s not fourteen anymore.

“You seem like you care too much,” Kurt remarks, doesn’t really know why he’s saying it - just seems like something to fill the air as they’ve been sitting in silence for a while. Plus, although he won’t admit it, he likes hearing Anderson’s voice. It’s gravelly but soft. Like half-crushed sand on the beach. “I mean, you asked me if you could be part of us. People don’t do that. Then… just then, you pretended like that vodka didn’t burn you. Which it did, I can tell these things.”

Anderson, now staring at Kurt a little surprised, clears his throat and opens his mouth and just says, “oh.”

Kurt speaks again, “I dunno, ’s just… weird.”

He’s looking at him now but Anderson isn’t, leaning against the chain on the swing like it’s easier than sitting straight. It doesn’t really support him at all; the chain’s too thin and wobbly to hold him steady so the boy has no choice but return to his usual posture again. Kurt’s still holding the bottle of vodka and it’s getting colder as the sun goes down so Anderson pulls the sleeves of his zip-up hoodie over his fingers, thumb ring catching on the cuffs slightly but he doesn’t care. It’s better than looking back at Kurt right now if he’s really going to reveal something like this to him.

“Both my parents have always…” He breaks off again, breath hitching, and he’s still not looking at Kurt, just staring out into the distance again - a thing that Kurt’s noticed he does often, like the cogs in his brain are constantly turning. Maybe not just turning though, it’s like they’re grinding together. Like he’s constantly struggling. Like a constant headache. Kurt watches, waiting silently until he continues, “They’ve always been pretty fucking uptight. I dunno. They care a lot about first impressions and they always drilled that into my head. I think about it a lot, how other people see me, I guess. It’s really fucking annoying, you know.”

The swing screeches as Kurt tries to move forward on it using his feet to get a look at Anderson’s face - his dark curls are covering most off it. Ignores the way his heart flutters when the boy finally looks back at him and he sees how his eyelashes fan along his cheeks when his eyes flit back down at the ground for a moment then back up to meet Kurt’s blue ones. Kurt doesn’t say anything, just offers him the bottle again, waggling his eyebrows suggestively and smiles when Anderson’s face lights up in a laugh just before he takes a short swig, and this time his face does scrunch up.

“Heres to shitty parents!” Anderson smiles, passing the bottle back to Kurt and sighing when he takes a swig too.

“Do you think your shitty parents are home right now?”

The boy meets his eyes, smirking, “Don’t think so.”

And Kurt finds that he does live up to Quinn’s wishes of ‘go fuck him, I don’t care, do whatever you want.’

*

They’re lying on Anderson’s bed, wearing nothing but their boxers. The sheets are all messed up, one half the duvet tossed carelessly on the floor, Kurt lying on the other half.

“You still owe me that cigarette.” He breathes, and he doesn’t know what has made his mind fuzzier; the alcohol or the sex. He settles on the alcohol for now - he’s not usually the type to bask in the afterglow, but he’s tired and it’s been a long day and they were outside till nearly midnight and a certain boy is lying next to him shirtless with dark curly hair and painted nails. He decides it’s okay to bask every once in a while.

“I think you do deserve it now,” Anderson smiles, staring at the ceiling, “that was pretty fucking good.” and then turning to his jeans which lay discarded on the floor and grabbing the cigarette packet and his lighter, lights the cigarette.

“My Dad gave me this,” he says, motioning to the lighter he’s just put down on the bedside table, “before he fucked off. Don’t really know why I use it, to be honest, he didn’t really give a shit before that anyway.”

Kurt sits up in bed just as Andeson does, turns to him. The other boy passes him the cigarette so Kurt takes a drag, marvelling at the feeling of the first puff of smoke entering his lungs.

“It’s such bullshit,” he starts, breaking eye contact with the curly-haired boy and staring at the shelves in front of Anderson’s bed.

His house is massive; when they entered Kurt saw a glimpse of the big entrance hall and the marble flooring and staircase, and probably would’ve paid more attention to it had he not been so focused on trying to keep his lips glued to Anderson’s whilst also focusing on the arduous task of removing his jacket and boots without any hands to untie the laces.

“You know, wanting to fuck guys shouldn’t even be a big deal until your shitty parents decide it is. I know if my Mom was alive she wouldn’t care, but my Dad doesn’t even talk to me about it.”

Anderson tries to meet his eyes as Kurt passes the cigarette back to him, but Kurt is still focusing on the shelves, still talking, “It’s like he’s homophobic but he’s not. Like he doesn’t care enough to even tell me if he’s cool with it. I fucking hate it.”

They don’t say any more; Anderson decides enough has been said. Instead, he leans in and kisses along Kurt’s jawline to his ear, curly hair brushing along the side of his face as he does. Kurt turns his face back to him finally and meets his lips, kisses back with just as much force. And Kurt thinks that maybe some things aren’t as bad as others.

When the cigarette they shared is finished and the sun is rising through the fog outside and Anderson’s lips feel warm and tingly, Kurt gets out of his bed and sprays himself with some of Anderson’s cologne to try and rid the smell of smoke, then puts back on his clothes.

Anderson tells himself it’s for the best that he doesn’t stay - his mother will be home soon and he’s guaranteed a good telling off for his whole room smelling of smoke, or just existing anyway. But once Kurt leaves with a small “we should do this again soon”, Anderson already misses the soft touches of the boy with the pink hair.


	2. part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> take note that there is homophobic language in this chapter, but that does not reflect my beliefs!

With New Year’s Day passing over again and the excitement of Christmas break washing away with the rest of the past, Kurt’s hair has faded enough again that he has to re-dye it. He decides to change the colour - goes with purple with blue highlights after his Dad tries to lecture him about how you won’t ever be able to find a good job with hair like that, Kurt, I mean you’ve been fired from three different stores now and god forbid if you don’t find yourself stable in another one–

Kurt has heard that peaceful protest is the best way to go in situations like this, so, after trying to get through some of his book for AP English (it was extraordinarily boring; the writing was sloppy and there were way too many rhetorical questions for his liking - he preferred to read something much more sophisticated - which he usually did - books were always something other than cigarettes which offered a great deal of comfort to him), trying to calm himself down but with no avail as he checks the clock and it’s midnight already. 

He decides to sleep at Quinn’s while his Dad can be grown-up enough to calm down. This is, as it turns out, a bad idea because Quinn has a girl over when Kurt lets himself in (they have each other’s keys to their houses now, much to their parent’s dismay) and sees them making out together heavily on the couch. Deciding not to interrupt, and averting his eyes quick enough that he isn’t grossed out, he moves back toward the door again and exists. 

So, Kurt decides (after feeling at a bit of a loss what with not being able to stay over at Quinn’s for a night and not allowing himself to trudge back home to his Dad and Carole because they were the ones that made him do this anyway… god, he doesn’t hold that much close to his heart but he does have his pride) that staying at Anderson’s would be the most straightforward solution to this dilemma. 

He’s been meeting up with Anderson weekly since their first hook-up in September. It’s not anything serious; they just fuck sometimes and meet in the park for drinks and a smoke.

Quinn finally grew used to the idea of Anderson hanging out under the bleachers with the rest of The Skanks after he beat up one of the jocks for calling Quinn a fag (it wasn’t even the correct term for her, for god’s sake; if you’re going to be blatantly homophobic towards someone you should at least educate yourself a little first) when they were all walking to class together. Made her realise he isn’t all shitty after all, especially after the trip to A&E where Anderson’s hand had to be bandaged up from all the bruising. 

He arrives on his motorbike at Anderson’s house - well, maybe more of a mansion is what you could call it - about twenty minutes later. Decides its best not to ring on the doorbell - it’s nearly one in the morning and the boy’s mom still doesn’t know about him, and judging by the window’s light in the front room he can make out that she might still be awake and briefly wonders what the hell this middle-aged woman does all day for her to still be awake at one AM. 

Nevertheless, he decides to take a chance with the large oak tree outside Anderson’s balcony. 

He’s been good at climbing trees since he was a little kid, even though his young self would never admit it - he never used to be partial to the dirt or the bugs that he may have found on the trees should he have climbed them and would’ve rather treated his stuffed animals to a tea party instead of exploring the depths of the woods - but when he did do it, he found it all rather easy than some other kids his age would. 

This still proves to be a successful theory as he grabs the intertwining branches with ease, being careful where to place his booted feet so he doesn’t slip on the wood. Soon he’s at the same level as the balcony railings, and snaps a twig off one of the branches and throws it at Anderson’s window. First time proves no avail, but second is more successful as a groggy looking Anderson (beautiful, Kurt thinks, even with the messy hair and smudged eyeliner - obviously not been taken off when he fell asleep) opens the balcony door, eyes widening when he sees Kurt sitting on a thick branch, hanging onto another one above him for support. 

“Hey handsome,” Kurt smirks, a cocky grin appearing on his face. Anderson just frowns. 

“Hummel, what the fuck are you doing here?” 

“Can I come in?” 

Anderson - rubbing his eyes now - scoffs briefly, leaning against his balcony doors, opens his mouth wordlessly for a moment - obviously a little startled at Kurt’s sudden appearance at nearly one in the morning - then finally says, “Yeah, fine, whatever.” and reaches out a hand to help Kurt over the railings from the branches of the oak tree, but Kurt ignores it, giving him a short and halfhearted smile, laughing at him quickly, walking through the doors into Anderson’s messy room, collapsing on his king-sized bed, leaving Anderson standing dumbfounded outside. 

“Aren’t ya gonna come in?” Kurt asks after a moment, leaning upon his elbows, grinning. 

Anderson just nods slightly, walking towards Kurt, sits on the bed next to him. Kurt notices a sense of awkwardness around him; he’s trying to find a place to settle his hands like he doesn’t know what to do with them or what the use of them is. Despite that, Kurt stays quiet, just focusing on Anderson’s complexion for a moment, examining the way his bushy eyebrows frame his eyes and lashes fan down onto his cheeks when he looks down at his hands, still trying to work out where to put them. 

After a while, he finally settles, says, “So you gonna tell me why you’re here?” and turns his face to look at Kurt, who just explains very briefly something about his parents being dicks and having to get the fuck away from them for a bit, to which Anderson asks “So… you want to sleep here…?” and it’s more of a statement than a question. Like he already knows the answer.

And Kurt raises his eyebrows, turns to the boy, “Ummm… yeah? It’s not like we haven’t done more than that before.” 

So eventually after some awkward walking around the bed and Anderson asking him if he needs a t-shirt for sleeping in or something and Kurt dismissing him with a ‘babe, we literally fucked two days ago’ and opting to just wear his boxers, they’re laying in bed next to each other back to back. And it’s just weird because… they’ve never been this casual before. There’s always been something more.

Kurt can hear Anderson’s soft breathing from the other side of the bed and assumes he’s asleep. It’s nearly three now, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t - can’t - care about anything anymore. Caring _hurts_. But he can’t stop fucking thinking.

His mind ebbs and flows between old memories and thoughts. God, he used to be such a happy kid. Before his Mom dying and everything was okay, she understood Kurt in a way no one would ever understand him, especially now. And then he’s thinking about his Dad, and Carole and Finn, and they just don’t know him. They don’t even care about him enough to batt an eyelid when he has to go and stay over at Quinn’s for the second week in a row. And maybe it’s not Finn or Carole who he should blame after all of this, because maybe if his Dad just accepted him then they would be okay. Hell, he wouldn’t be in Anderson’s bed right now if it wasn’t for his Dad. 

Is that a good thing…?

The tears fall on his cheeks before the crying starts.

He wants to stop, _fuck,_ he really needs to stop now. Because he hasn’t cried in so fucking long and now is not the time and not caring is just so, so much easier–

“Kurt?”

Anderson’s gravelly voice fills the room, ruffles of sheets and the duvet moving as he wakes. It’s quiet but so is the rest of the house and here it sounds like screaming, urgent cries of desperate people begging to be heard.

He tries to ignore him, he _tries_ so hard to just stare at the wall in front of him, but before he can even try to keep his ground Anderson is grabbing his shoulder and suddenly Kurt’s sobbing harder into the boy’s chest, wet tears dampening his shirt as strong arms wrap around him. 

“I can’t fucking do this shit anymore,” he sobs, voice being broken up as he tries to speak through the crying, “I can’t, I can’t… he fucking doesn’t even care to tell me if he just accepts me I can’t fucking do it–”

Anderson’s not sure why, but he just finds it so easy to hold him like this. Like it’s just so natural to just protect him. So he squeezes him closer, murmuring little _shhh_ ’s and _it’s okay, it’s okay_ ’s until Kurt’s breathing regulates and then there are just little whimpers from him as he strokes his back.

And Kurt feels instantly calmer. 

Maybe you could be the one to know me again.

There are so many problems he just can’t take a risk for right now.

*

Kurt hardly gets any sleep that night; he dozes for maybe just two hours before he has to get up again otherwise Anderson’s Mom will realise he’s home, and Anderson has warned Kurt that they really should avoid crossing paths any time soon. Kurt is a little apprehensive, doesn’t understand why it should be such a big deal, but then remembers how his Dad can get sometimes and decides to just go with it. 

He slips into his clothes that have been dropped on Anderson’s floor once again that week, but this time it feels like there’s something so much deeper behind it, and Kurt tries to shake off the thought as the other boy pulls him back to him by his wrist, kissing him quickly before breathing a slow goodbye and asking him if they can meet later because he just got hold of another pack of cigarettes after not being able to for a while. And Kurt has to smile - properly smile this time - it feels good to properly smile because normally never does such a thing - because Anderson’s eyes look so sparkly despite him just waking up and it being only five-thirty in the morning. 

There are so many risks in the world, but you’re a risk I want to take. Someday.

*

At school that day, Anderson meets Kurt under the bleachers as usual during the second period. Quinn isn’t there yet, but Kurt doesn’t mind - she’s usually late anyway. 

“You look so fucking hot with your hair like that,” Anderson remarks as he walks towards him, already opening a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, “purple looks so good on you.” 

Kurt chuckles, “I’m not making out with you at school.” and takes a cigarette from the packet that Anderson offers him, the boy standing up close to him and slipping a hand into Kurt’s jeans back pocket, Kurt now facing him, their lips only inches apart. 

Anderson makes a sound of dismissal because they both know that’s not true at all. That one moment in the empty classroom after detention does count. They’ve been over this before. And Anderson knows that Kurt understands when he’s trying to make a point of because he can see it in his eyes - that little glint in his pupils and the way his eyes are smiling but not his lips - because they know each other now. It’s been four months already. 

Soon, Kurt has to wave a hand and say, “Not today.” because otherwise, Anderson will be leaning against the metal cage surrounding the scaffolding of the bleachers with Kurt’s lips on his mouth and neck, and as much as he appreciates doing that he doesn’t want to risk getting caught by Coach Sylvester again which has happened on multiple occasions already since that first detention in September.

The first detention when he met Blaine.

_Blaine._

Sometimes Kurt says his real name in his head, loves how it sounds when he thinks to himself, wishes he could say it out loud. It’s probably a little rude just to call him Anderson really, but he can’t risk putting his heart in someone’s hands and letting them drop it and leave it. It’s what happened with his Mom, and his Dad. He can’t let it happen again. Maybe someday he’ll be strong enough, just not now, not when everything feels right.

He thinks about it more often - Anderson’s first name. The way it just rolls off his tongue when he says it out loud to no one. And maybe it’s a bad thing that that particular name is becoming so important to him now, feels it in his heart as he says it, like it’s only just missing the shards of glass it’s jumping over as it beats. 

… is his heart beating? Some people would think his heart was made of stone. Either that, or he didn’t have a heart at all.

If Kurt has a heart of stone, then his heart is a diamond… because it’s the hardest thing on earth to crack. And maybe Anderson, _Blaine_ is the other diamond, _his_ diamond, because only diamonds can truly crack other diamonds. And maybe that’s what he needs to feel whole again. 

He’s snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of Quinn’s boots clicking on the stone ground, and Kurt’s eyes widen as he sees her hand being held by another girl’s. He examines her for a moment - she is pretty - a goth-type feel to the way she looks, all dressed up in her fishnets and plaid skater skirt, blue-streaked hair tied into bunches and curled on either side of her head.

It’s amusing to Kurt how much she looks like Quinn, who’s also dressed in fishnets but a baggy, oversized knitted jumper coming down to her knees, and, like the blue-haired girl, neck adorned with many pendants. They both look quite fitting really, merging with their intertwined fingers between each other. 

“Who’s this?” Anderson speaks up from silently watching, leaning against the scaffolding with one of his sneakers pushed back against it too, cigarette in hand. 

“This,” Quinn asserts, voice going high as she nods to the other girl, swinging their hands between them a bit, “Is Tina. And we’re exclusive.” 

Silence for a moment, because Anderson either doesn’t care or have anything to say on the matter, and Kurt is just a little gobstruck. Quinn has never, never in the history of their friendship declared that she’s taken or is in a relationship at all. Makes him wonder how important this Tina girl is to her. 

However, that silence is soon broken when Kurt finally says something. “…Tina… who?” And points his eyes at the girl who seems a little scared, and Kurt can just detect the fact that she’s trying to avoid breathing in the smoke. It’s probably rude that they’re talking about her like she’s not there, but Kurt is more interested in just finding out who the fuck Quinn is kissing this time. 

“I’m Tina Cohen-Chang.” The girl suddenly says, and then Kurt realises.

Mr Shuester (that Spanish teacher that Kurt absolutely _loathes_ ; he doesn’t care about his student’s grades at all and he only gets offended by things when people call him out) forced Finn into joining his good-for-nothing Glee Club at the start of term. He was very hesitant at first, to say the least, especially when Kurt mocked him for very suddenly dropping from the highest to the lowest of the low in the school’s hierarchy, but as the year has progressed, it’s all he fucking talks about. Sometimes he just walks into Kurt’s room without knocking (which is incredibly unfortunate when he’s trying to secretly smoke) and just talks and talks _at_ him about all these people in the club which Kurt’s never heard of before - apart from Rachel, obviously - about who’s dating who and who’s cheated on who this time and Kurt tries to block it out, but recently Finn _has_ been talking about a girl named Tina quite a lot and it’s been hard to ignore. 

And Kurt is suddenly very aware of the fact that Quinn is dating a girl from Glee Club. 

“Quinn, can we talk?” Kurt says, already walking towards her as he speaks, yanking her arm from the grip of Tina Cohen-Chang’s hand and linking their arms together, walking behind the metal cage around the back of the bleachers, leaving Anderson and Tina standing there alone, Tina looking quite frightened of the boy and Anderson just chuckling to himself at her fear as he continues to smoke. 

Kurt doesn’t even wait till they’re out of sight before he explodes at Quinn. “What the fuck are you doing?” He says, and he has to put an emphasis on ‘fuck’ - he’s just so speechless at his friend right now he can’t even try to contain himself. 

Quinn is less than amused as she scoffs, “What are you talking about, Kurt?

“This girl is in the glee club! Do–”

“And what about it? Can’t you just give a shit after all of this?” 

“Don’t you understand, Quinn? Being in glee club _or_ dating someone in glee club is social suicide! Don’t you fucking understand what this will do to us? People are gonna start giving a shit about us!”

“And why the fuck does that even matter, Kurt?” Quinn lets out a groan in exasperation.

“Because It’s better to be ignored!” Kurt yells at her, voice and pace of his words raising. And Quinn is just staring at him wordlessly and Kurt wonders if he can hear her heart pumping _boom boom boom_ in her chest, leaping out of her throat.

And suddenly the air feels colder than it already was during these Ohio winters. Kurt shivers. Comes to terms with what he just said. 

Quinn knows him. Quinn knows Kurt more than anyone else could right now. She understands that blending in is easier than standing out, even though the skanks are so different from the rest of the school. She understands what he’s been through with his Mom and may not fully know why but also understands that his relationship with his Dad is tainted. She can see it is. Knows its easier for Kurt to just not care, but he’s never just admitted it like this, in a way that puts his heart on the line, in a way that just _says_ how he feels completely straightforward with no hesitation or laughing it off. This is Kurt, vulnerable, young Kurt. Not the persona Quinn sees every day. 

She decides if Kurt is being so open, its better to match him too. 

“We’ve been together since October.” 

And there it is, the truth just out in the open, no way of taking it back without making herself seem like she’s panicking or being awkward, and Kurt says, “…What?” and stares at her in confusion as she’s focusing on her doc martens wiping the grass on the ground like its the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen. 

Kurt has to ask her again because it’s like Quinn can’t even hear him. “Quinn. What did you just say?” 

The girl sighs, “We made it official three months ago. I started talking to her a month before, in September.” 

Kurt realises now, it all makes sense, the little mentions of different girls Quinn has been seeing were actually all just the same girl. Tina Cohen-Chang. He feels like he could laugh from the idiocy, it’s so _obvious_ now he thinks about it. Like even the night before when he walked into Quinn making out with a random person. She wasn’t random. That was Tina too. And he just feels _stupid._

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I was scared you were going to think worse of me.” 

First Kurt’s just staring at her, but then he’s moving towards her and hugging her. He just has to. He hates fighting with Quinn, and now he feels awful because Quinn does care for this girl; it’s just obvious. The way she had to defend Tina whatever Kurt said about her, the vicious anger in her eyes as it offended her too. _God, what has happened in the last four months that he doesn’t know about?_

As they pull back, Quinn trails her hands down Kurt’s arms, a sign of forgiveness. 

“I’ve never felt about any other girl like I do for Tina. I mean it. I care about her Kurt. I told you that even when I started talking to her in September. And I can’t keep that from you anymore. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I’m ready now.”

“That’s fine, that’s completely fine,” Kurt rushes, squeezing her hands supportingly, “I’m happy for you, Quinn.” 

Quinn (who’s still got her dazzling charm from her freshman and sophomore years of being captain of The Cheerios, no matter how hard she tries) chuckles lightly, a small ‘hmm’ and cocks her head to the side, mumbles, “Come on, let’s go back. I need a smoke after all this sincerity.” And Kurt laughs as she tugs his hand, still holding it, dragging him back under the bleachers. 

*

“You’re going to tell me where you went last night, Kurt.” 

He’s only just through the door when his Dad starts pestering him. “A hello would be nice.” 

But Burt ignores him, arms folded with a hard stare as he demands, “Tell me where you were.” 

And Kurt groans as his Dad speaks, he doesn’t have the time for this now - he’s only just recovered his anger from last night’s hair dye argument, plus he also has to get changed and shower to meet Blaine in half an hour. So as Burt finishes his demand, he’s already trying to walk up the stairs to his room, but this is no use as his Dad says “Kurt.”

This time he has to turn around.

“I was at Quinn’s, Dad. And maybe before you judge me on my choices of fucking hair colour you should read the room and judge the situation first, because I can’t put up with this bullshit.” 

Burt gave up with the language last year, Kurt noticed. Doesn’t even scold him for it anymore. It’s quite beneficial, Kurt thinks because it means he can get his point across - speak for his generation… or whatever. This doesn’t mean he doesn’t still see the surprised reaction on Burt’s face when he speaks, but this time it doesn’t really happen. Instead, his Dad walks closer to him at the bottom of the stairs, raises his eyebrows. “Oh really?” He counters, “Because I just got off the phone with Quinn’s mother and she said that Quinn didn’t have anyone over. So,” he asks again, exaggerating each word, “Where. Were. You.” 

It’s not a question; it’s the kind that only parents use when they want to get a word out of their unwilling children. Kurt hates it - sees it as some sort of horrible persuasion technique. If your child doesn’t want to talk about it, don’t push them. Is it that hard?

He opens his mouth as if he were to say something, like opening it will make words (and good ones at that) suddenly appear, but he closes it again when nothing comes out. And after his Dad asks him again with a ‘Kurt’ added on the end for extra exaggeration, Kurt has no choice but, to tell the truth.

“...I stayed at another friend’s, Dad. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. God, why do you have to be so intrusive?” He says after a moment, quite proud of himself for phrasing it in such a manner. 

Burt frowns, “This is one of your… friends.” 

Kurt rolls his eyes in exasperation, “Yes, Dad. A friend.” 

He knows from the way he says it he doesn’t mean just friends, so he has to emphasise that word. And this is what he _hates_ , the way he can’t just stand up to the fact that he’s gay. It always has to be little played-down phrases because he’s so uncomfortable with it. Hell, Kurt wouldn’t be surprised if he ever told his Dad he’d got a boyfriend, he would just deny it and say ‘but Kurt… that’s not a girl.’

“Oh. And I don’t who this person is?” 

“No, Dad,” Kurt groans again, “His name is Blaine,” he says, deciding it’s better to give his Dad Anderson’s real name - there’s too much of _Kurt_ attached to his surname- “I stayed with him because _you_ can’t seem to keep your nose out of my business. Now get the fuck away from me.” And he walks further up the stairs.

 _”Kurt!”_

“What now?” 

“I would like to meet this boy because _obviously,_ ” he says, emphasising the ‘obviously’ in the sentence like he’s trying to make it obvious to Kurt that he’s being oblivious, “being a bad influence on you.”

Kurt’s back straightens at that, scoffs, “How the _fuck_ is he being a bad influence on me? You don’t even know him!” 

The anger is building now, tension raising. Kurt is scowling at his Dad, heart thrumming in his chest. Every time they argue it just reminds him of the _Dad, I’m gay_ and then he feels like he can’t breathe again.

He always feels like he can’t breathe. 

His Dad ignores the question, just continues with his proposition, “Friday night, Kurt. Tell him I want to meet him and he will come to dinner.” 

And Kurt just can’t speak - there’s something so suffocating about this, the way his Dad has to tell him not ask him. So he just tries to breathe in, straightens his lips in silent affirmation and walks up the stairs to his room. He can’t he can’t he _can’t–_

He needs Blaine.

And he doesn’t even think when he’s saying his real name in his head this time. 

*

That evening, when they meet in the park, Kurt has to pull Anderson in by his leather jacket and kiss him, hard. When he pulls back, Anderson is laughing and Kurt has to laugh too - even though the other boy is probably laughing at him - he doesn’t care because Anderson’s laugh is just like that. And suddenly they’re laughing so hard they can’t stand up, clutching at their bellies because the happiness _aches._ And it’s probably the best thing in the world because Kurt never laughs like this.

Later when the excitement has died down a bit and both of them are just sitting comfortably on the swings next to each other, passing a bottle of whiskey between them, Kurt finally speaks. 

“My Dad wants to meet you. For dinner on Friday.”

The words float in the air, nothing else being spoken, and Kurt is worried that Anderson isn’t going to say anything. Because then he’ll have to explain and babble and try to take the words back and he can’t be bothered to go through that awkwardness or hassle, but then Anderson does say something.

“Okay.” 

That’s all he says - no other words - just a simple ‘okay’, and just takes another sip of whiskey from the bottle. And it feels so weird to Kurt, that there are no other questions, no ‘what if’s or excuses. To Anderson, it’s just _okay._

And he can’t help but question him.

“Is that it?” He asks.

Anderson frowns slightly, his head turning to Kurt next to him, cocking it to the side, “do you want me to say anything more?”

“...No, actually.” 

And Kurt is surprised with his answer because he’s always left expecting more. From his Dad, from Finn, from Carole, from his teachers… sometimes even from Quinn. But with Anderson, _Blaine_ , it just feels so natural. 

So Anderson nods and passes him the bottle and Kurt takes it, trying to ignore the burning sensation as it slips down his throat. 

*

Friday edges towards Kurt faster than he would have liked, and soon he’s pacing around his room trying not to over-examine everything about himself, like the little crease in his T-shirt that he usually wouldn’t care about because he lost interest in fashion two years ago, but now just seems so important to him because ‘family dinner’ doesn’t exactly scream ‘casual relationship’. 

He avoids the thought of putting a blanket over his mirror so he can’t check himself over once more, thinking that if he had more time he could’ve smoked which may have calmed his nerves a little. Then he thinks he should stop smoking, but knows it will probably be a lost cause. And god, why the fuck is his mind racing ten times faster than it usually does right now?

He decides to stick with the top he’s wearing rather than searching for another more ironed one because it’s unlikely he’ll find that when all his clothes are strewn messily across his bedroom floor anyway. He does, however, apply some more deodorant because even though he might not usually be as attentive with that sort of thing it shouldn’t hurt to put on some more now - it’s polite to do so when guests are over. 

Okay, so maybe he does check himself in the mirror again. Maybe twice. But that does not mean anything. 

And then the doorbell is ringing. 

Anderson hasn’t put as much effort into his outfit than Kurt has - he’s wearing the same thing he always does. The leather jacket, the white T-shirt, the painted nails, the piercings… there’s nothing different. Kurt likes that. 

Burt’s expression when he opens the door doesn’t surprise Kurt in the least - just a very blatant look of disapproval as he sees Anderson’s whole getup, looking him up and down.

Anderson breaks the silence as he realises Burt isn’t going to say anything, speaking with no expression, face completely straight as he leans against the doorframe.

“Hi.” 

Burt opens his mouth only to close again, just says “Why don’t you come in?” and pats his shoulder a little reluctantly - like he doesn’t know how to actually greet the boy, but this seems relative to him - and turns to walk into the dining room, expecting Anderson to follow him. 

Anderson doesn’t comply, instead walks up to Kurt who’s standing on the first step of the staircase holding the bannister.

“Hey,” He says, and Kurt smiles as he pulls Kurt’s hand so he trails down the stairs, standing level to him now but always a few inches taller. He wraps his arms around the taller boy, holding him close and Kurt’s chuckling a bit because he can smell the cigarette smoke on his skin - he hasn’t even bothered to hide it. 

“You look so fucking good tonight,” Anderson mumbles in his ear, hardly coherent, “we can go back to mine when this is over. My Mom’s out.” he says and is mouthing softly against the bottom of Kurt’s neck, and Kurt hums, nodding slightly, not caring (or knowing) if his Dad and Carole are standing and watching them. His Dad has already expressed his feelings in a sort of closed-off kind of way, so why care about the consequences? He just wishes they weren’t doing this whole dinner party anyway.

It turns out that Carole has noticed them because she’s standing in the doorway from the kitchen to the dining room holding the dish of the chicken casserole in her oven gloves, and interrupts their blatant flirting with a “Kurt.” and giving him the ‘disapproving mother’ look. Kurt learnt two years ago that this was just not effective because his real mother would’ve been better at that anyway so always opts to ignore it, but this time he can smell the food and he is hungry so pulls away from Blaine, shooting him a quick smile before walking into the dining room, where Burt and Finn are already waiting, talking to each other about a recent football game or something that Kurt has no interest in at all. 

He ignores them too, sitting down in his usual chair and dismissing the fact that the room quietens when Kurt sits there too, head resting against his fist. He turns his head when he sees Anderson moving into the room gingerly, taking the seat next to Kurt and opposite to Kurt’s Dad. Kurt pretends to miss the way Burt’s eyes flicker down with a joyless chuckle back to his empty plate when Anderson’s lips perk up in a halfhearted smile towards him. So, it’s obvious that the first impressions are not positive. 

Neither Anderson nor Kurt say that much during dinner, just quietly eating their casserole and answering questions when Burt and Carole ask them things. Finn seems quite awkward - sitting there trying to focus on his food but seemingly quite interested in whoever this boy is sitting next to his stepbrother, taking little peaks at them now and then. 

Burt is hoping to break the silence when he starts. 

“So, Blaine,” he says, clearing his throat once he’s swallowed his mouthful of food, “What school do you go to?” 

Anderson’s head is propped upright by his fist, elbow resting against the table, “McKinley,” he mumbles, “joined this year.” 

And here come the questions, “how old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“Favourite sport?”

“Don’t have one.”

“Parents?”

“Divorced. I live with my Mom.”

Burt raises his eyebrows, pretending to look interested - it’s obvious to Kurt that he’s not. He smiles apathetically, chuckling slightly.

“And…” he notions to Anderson, waving a hand around his face, “Y’know, these piercings,” he says, and Kurt tries to stifle his laughter when Anderson raises an eyebrow, looking slightly offended because it’s an expression that Kurt’s never seen on his face before, “Is that something all you kids do nowadays?”

And then Kurt wants to turn invisible. 

Anderson chuckles under his breath - a little ‘hmm’ as the sides of his lips twitch in what could be an almost-smile, “I don’t think it’s your right to judge what someone should wear when you dress like that.” he voices, slightly incoherent, quite fast, motioning to Burt’s flannel and baggy jeans combination.

Kurt tries not to react but feels his heart jumping in his throat as Anderson speaks - half out of admiration for the boy next to him and half out of anxiety for his Dad’s response; Burt never could handle situations like this. 

And it’s true because straight after Anderson utters his words Burt is already talking back, “Now,” he says, “do not criticise me or the rest of my family or you will not be welcomed in this household.” 

And Blaine’s just laughing to himself, “I’ve heard this from my own father hundreds of times before. Your words don’t hurt me.” 

“Maybe it’s something that needs to be heard.”

It’s something that Kurt hates - the way his Dad thinks he has immediate authority without even learning about the person he’s talking to, the way he can just decide what’s right for a person before even knowing them, already thinking he can understand who they are just from one look. Because Kurt knows what his Dad sees when he looks at him - uncontrolled, pathetic, useless - and when he looks at Anderson he thinks the same. Because that’s how ‘normal people’ view outsiders. It’s either pity or hate. No in-between. 

“I’ve met people like you, Mr Hummel,” Blaine begins, taking a small sip of his drink and placing his knife and fork back down on his plate, “you desperately try to find the good in the people who, from first judgement, decide you don’t like. And then you pretend to be affectionate and caring with your ‘stop criticising my loving household’ when really,” he maintains an even expression, eyebrows slightly raised as if to affirm his point, “you’re just cold. And you show it every day, every time you don’t tell your son you love him, every time you ban him from doing what makes him happy or letting him express himself. And you know it’s wrong but you can’t just admit to yourself, for one second, that you just don’t know how to love your child.” Blaine smiles. “Don’t be offended; I’m only telling you the truth.”

And before Anderson’s even finished his sentence, Burt is standing up, smashing his fists on the table, Carole and Finn jumping like it’s something unexpected of him but Kurt staying still because he’s seen it many times before and it’s just relative to him now, “Get the hell out of my house!” he yells, “Get out, get out, _get out!”_ with Carole trying to calm him, pulling on his arm and Finn stuck - Kurt sees that he wants to leave but can’t, just sitting there, completely shocked.

Anderson meets Burt’s anger, _“Stop treating the boy I love like dirt on the ground!”_

Silence. 

And it’s all out now, all the emotion spilt out of Anderson’s heart and into Kurt’s chest, filling his lungs and suffocating him. He doesn’t understand - it’s like when his Mom died, and the whole world just falls in on you when you least expect it, and you’re the only one to hold it up again. But you don’t know how to hold it, because you hardly believe it’s real. 

Diamonds are the hardest thing on earth to break. But when met with another, it’s as fragile as a butterfly wing - one slash with a sharp edge and it’s broken, value lost in its pieces. As Blaine shatters Kurt, sharp edges meeting butterfly wings, he’s standing up from his chair, uttering a hasty ‘I have to go’ leaving smashed jewels scattered dangerously on the floor as he exists. 

And as everyone else is leaving the dining room trying to recover from the sudden uproar, clutters of plates and dishes crashing against each other as they’re moved to be put in the dishwasher, Kurt’s sitting in his chair wordlessly, all the value in the world vanished, Blaine’s love for Kurt turned acidic as his diamond heart shatters into two. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooohhhh damn. last chapter coming on sunday!!


	3. part three

_“At lunchtime I bought a huge orange  
The size of it made us all laugh.  
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—  
They got quarters and I had a half._

_And that orange, it made me so happy,  
As ordinary things often do  
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park  
This is peace and contentment. It’s new._

_The rest of the day was quite easy.  
I did all my jobs on my list  
And enjoyed them and had some time over.  
I love you. I’m glad I exist.”_  
Wendy Cope, _The Orange_

*

They don’t talk for a long while after that.

Kurt’s days vary - some good, some bad - his life fading back to its usual normality and pace, talking to Quinn under the bleachers (however she’s not there as much as she used to be - Tina doesn’t like it there and Quinn would never want to make her scared. Kurt always jokes that she’s turned her soft, but Quinn is having none of it), trying to find work, reading.

Quinn asked him a week after the dinner party with Anderson wasn’t hanging with them anymore, said she missed him, and Kurt had to laugh, just said they ‘had a small disagreement’ and he ‘doesn’t know where the fuck he is now’, which is true because he honestly doesn’t - he hasn’t seen him in school for months.

He’s smoking a considerable amount more cigarettes than he usually used to when Anderson was around - he always smoked so much more before Blaine - where so much pain and hurt could fizzle out so easily through a dose of nicotine and a puff of smoke, and now Kurt’s life has returned to the same old habits.

After the evening dinner with Anderson, their contact instantly cut off. Kurt’s Dad had been more hesitant after that too; Kurt thinks his Dad has finally realised how shit he’s treated his son for all those years since his Mom died, which he is pleased about; apart from the fact that Burt has been awfully quiet - much more pensive than usual - hardly talking to Kurt at all. Like he’s in shock. Kurt doesn’t really know if he is thankful towards Anderson for that, but it’s still just hard to hate him so much.

It’s been two months now. Two months without a glimpse of the curly hair or piercings or black painted nails. Two months with not a single word spoken. 

Kurt has to admit that he misses it. 

The whiskey kisses, the long conversations, the mutual understanding of one another was something Kurt had always wished for, something he had yearned for so deeply, hidden away in the back of his mind, locked away in a cage of secrets. 

Of which there were many.

He had always read about it in books - that kind of friendship. Books were always something he could always understand, even after he met Quinn and joined the Skanks and after his Dad got married to Carole. They offered such clarity to him, reassuring him that all would end up to be okay in the end (maybe apart from _The Great Gatsby_ , which he found to be rather aggravating), the comfort that the main characters would always end up together, that the problem would be solved. Books were - and still are - his source of serenity when the walls of the world fall around him. When the final flame of the last cigarette in the packet burns out and Kurt is left with nothing but drying tar in his lungs. When the diamond cracks from the hardest impact and he is left to pick up the pieces, confused about which ones fit together to form a solid gem again. Books are his solace, and always will be. 

Even more cigarettes, and even more books. At least one of them is healthy. 

It’s why he’s reading instead of smoking - a poetry book this time, an anthology by William Seighart - when Quinn walks up to their park - Tina tagging along this time. Kurt doesn’t mind her - he’s actually quite intrigued by her - the way she can be so scared of them but never hesitates to fight back when someone wants to take the piss out of her. She’s fierce, but also quiet. It’s fascinating. 

“Feeling sad, Hummel?”

Kurt has to close his book when he hears Quinn’s soft voice. It’s always quite amusing to him the way her voice is so smooth yet so judgemental - her sweet ‘girl next door’ years of cheerleading and being head of the chastity club still shining through the cracks of her traumas and hurt. It makes Kurt happy to know that there’s still that innocence hidden somewhere inside her even though she’s been through so much. And maybe Kurt’s jokes about Tina turning her soft just show that maybe that happiness and contentment are coming back to her again, appearance be damned - she suits the frayed denim and fishnets and pink hair too much to go back to her look she had those few years ago. Maybe in the future, but not now.

“Just because I’m reading a poetry book doesn’t mean I’m sad, Fabray.” He says when Quinn and Tina get closer, Tina taking the swing next to him and Quinn leaning against the poles holding them up, dropping her backpack that was hanging on one shoulder onto the floor messily so she isn’t leaning uncomfortably, already lighting the cigarette in her hand, giving Tina a playful scowl when she sees the look of disappointment on her face. 

Quinn lets out a small expression of dismissal, a little ‘pfft’ before she remarks, “Kurt, stop acting like I don’t know you. You read poetry when you’re sad. Spill.” 

Kurt doesn’t say anything; just goes back to _The Poetry Pharmacy Returns: More Prescriptions for Courage, Healing and Hope_ and continues reading: _‘I love you. I’m glad I exist.’_

So many love poems, so little love. What a shitty book. 

He momentarily wonders whether that’s what Blaine - _Anderson, fuck, he means Anderson_ \- used to feel. The feeling that despite everything else seeming so depressing and awful, there’s that sudden realisation that life isn’t as bad as you think it is, that the smallest of things are just… happier when you’re in love. Even peeling an orange feels uplifting. 

A slight flash in his mind wonders if he still feels that way. 

He decides its best not to dwell on such a thing. 

He’s focused again, moved onto the next poem - full of old English words that he doesn’t really understand but is exceptionally beautiful anyway - when he hears Tina shifting on the swing, the joints of the chains creaking as it moves. 

“Kurt,” She says, and Kurt’s head turns from his anthology to the blue-haired girl, cocking slightly. She continues as he does, “I know I don’t know much about what’s going on here, but please, just tell us whether you’re okay or not. Because we do care about you, you know.” 

Kurt doesn’t really think before he says it, “I’m not okay.” And it’s so quiet - hardly coherent, a little interruption, and that’s all he says. 

There’s a frown on Quinn’s face as she moves towards him, snatches the book out of his hands as he’s reading, Kurt squeaking out in protest as she does, “Wha- Quinn!”

“You are going to stop being so down in the dumps and tell us what the fuck is going on. Because actually, it’s unfair on both of us.”  
“And I have no way of getting out of this?”

“None. Now come sit,” Quinn orders him, pulling Tina’s hand from where it’s placed on the chain of the swing too, laughing as Tina shrieks from the sudden jolt.

Kurt follows more begrudgingly, plodding less gracefully to sit on the hard tarmacked ground, crossing his legs and leaning his head against his fist as it’s propped up against the side of his knee. 

Quinn ignores his mood, asserting herself: “Right,” she says, leaning over slightly to where she dumped her bag on the ground, unzipping it and rummaging through it, finally finding what she wanted, “mini donuts,” she throws a plastic box of donuts from the grocery store towards Kurt who shrieks when they hit the side of his face. “Aaaaand…” Quinn says, fishing another packet out of her bag, throwing it at Kurt again despite his protests, “cigarettes. And a lighter. All for you. Now,” she continues, grabbing the box of donuts back and opening them, taking two, when Kurt ignores her temptations, “You’re going to tell us what’s gotten you so edgy. And I mean edgier than you usually are. So tell us now or I’ll take the cigarettes back.” 

Kurt groans, an ‘ugh’ slipping out of his mouth as he reaches forward and takes a donut, eats it quickly then lights one of the cigarettes from the packet, mutters, “It’s Anderson.” and scowls as both Quinn and Tina hum knowingly, pleased little smiles of ‘I knew it’ hovering on their faces.

Tina’s mostly taking care of finishing the donuts - it’s only fair since Quinn and Kurt are smoking now - and mumbles around a mouthful, “So you do have feelings for him, Kurt.” but it hardly sounds like that because she’s still eating and it just sounds like all the words are jumbling into one another, so Kurt ignores her and instead focuses on snatching his book back from Quinn which is now settled beside her and succeeding as Quinn doesn’t even notice and skipping to page 48 where he left off. 

“You care about him, Kurt.” Quinn translates, a little sympathy in her voice and Kurt has to stop himself from asking her how she can understand what the fuck Tina is saying when she speaks like that. Kind dignity stops him. He can be nice sometimes. Nicer, at least.

He’s hardly listening to either of them, pretending to concentrate more with the current poem: _The Hymn of Empedocles_ by Matthew Arnold; _‘To have loved, to have thought, to have done…?’_

It kind of resonates with him for a moment but then he’s distracted by Tina’s kick against his outstretched leg and the sound of a rather loud “Kurt!” being shouted from her lips, jolting him out of his daze.

“Come on, tell us what happened.”

So, reluctantly, Kurt explains everything - the dinner party, Anderson’s announcement to his Dad, the fact that they haven’t spoken in months and the _I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Quinn_ when she asks why. By the end, his cigarette is finished and he wants another mini donut but Tina’s already eaten them all and god he just wants to go home and curl up in bed for once, which surprises him because usually, home is his least favourite place to be.

“You know,” Quinn starts, inching towards him on her knees, probably hurting on the hard tarmac and taking his hand - something she does only when she truly wants to be sincere with Kurt - “I can see you’re hurt. You like him.” she says, shaking the hand as she talks, trying to emphasise each word. 

Kurt groans once more at her words. He knows she’s right. She’s completely right. Her statement has been one hundred per cent correct for quite some time now, as much as Kurt doesn’t want to admit it.

Neither Kurt nor Anderson spoke about when Kurt stayed over that night. Never spoke about the crying into the other’s chest or the _‘It’s okay, it’s okay Kurt I promise it’s gonna be okay’_ or the way both felt safer, so much more sure of anything else they knew in the world.

Kurt likes to act like he can’t remember these things - _‘Sorry I’ve just been so tired lately’_ \- acts like they never happened, like they’re another memory washed away and tainted by the haze of alcohol and sleep deprivation. 

He remembers everything with Blaine. 

In front of Quinn, Kurt always pretends things don’t bother him. He knows Quinn doesn’t believe a word, but somehow it’s easier that way. It’s always easier that way. So he says, “Whatever, Quinn.” tries to wiggle his hand out from its grip in hers, head falling back down onto his fist. 

There’s something that pulls at him, an urge to say more. A foreign feeling - these things just don’t happen. People either pretend to care or they don’t. That’s how life and society works. It’s why small talk exists. It’s why relationships grow and then break, left to put the smashed jewels together again, all value lost. 

For Kurt, he’s realised that crushed diamonds can’t just be simply put back together. It’s never that easy. Life is never that easy. There are processes and hurt and more things lost and shattered - hearts getting bruised and never fully repairing. Kurt can’t ever put the pieces perfectly together again.

“I don’t–” He starts, hesitates for a moment, thinking thinking thinking. Then continues, “My Dad. I haven’t… he’s… he’s not right.” 

Kurt doesn’t know what he’s saying, because suddenly his heart is open and all these emotions are spilling out like a knife stabbed right into the centre, blood dribbling down his chest. And it’s like he’s trying to patch up the wound but it won’t heal, the blood still soaking through the bandages, emotions slipping through the fabric and into his words. 

“When Blaine said that… that _thing_ to my Dad, my Dad just… exploded.” And the blood’s going drip, drip, drip down his chest, “and that was the last thing I’ve properly heard him say. He’s been so weirdly silent.” 

Quinn and Tina are silent, just watching him talk, letting the emotions flow out of him, and Kurt hopes they’ll catch them once he’s finished because he can’t stop speaking now, just keeps going, “I think he’s realised how shitty he treats me. And it’s not like I’m not happy about that… because I am,” he says, sitting up, knees curling to his chest and linking his arms around them, “but my Dad is so… different. And I don’t know if I should feel angry at Blaine for that when I’m thinking-”

The talking stops.

And his heart closes again. 

Wound sealed, bandage drying.

Tina speaks.

“...Thinking what, Kurt?” 

Kurt’s eyes are dampening, and suddenly tears are trailing slowly down his cheeks and there’s an ache in his throat and maybe… okay - the wound has only been _sealed_ not _healed_ and there are still cracks in his heart where the pain is seeping through. 

He’s instantly being pulled into Quinn’s embrace with Tina rubbing the side of his arm, obviously not as sure what to do because they arent’s as close, but Kurt is also surprised at Quinn because this never _happens,_ this is probably the only time Kurt has been this open with anyone but… well. Blaine. 

And the name ‘Blaine’ seems so normal on his tongue now. 

“C-can’t stop thinking… about him.” 

Quinn sighs; Kurt doesn’t really know why she’s the one who’s sighing when he’s the one in pain anyway but chooses to ignore it, chooses to listen this time.

“Kurt… you need to talk to him. He loves you. And you haven’t talked to him since that night. I don’t care what the fuck you’re going to say now as an excuse, but honestly, Kurt, talking is always the best thing to do.”

Kurt doesn’t say anything, just gives a little hum and he’s not sure if it signifies agreement or not. 

This whole situation seems alien to him; Quinn never talks to him like this. Normally it’s just a ‘do whatever Kurt, I honestly don’t care’ or ‘you’re probably right, Kurt, but I’m not listening to you right now’. Even in the hospital when Kurt thought Quinn might _die_ and then she was finally awake after a very long week, the first thing Kurt said to her was ‘you are so fucking rude for doing that to me’ and Quinn just laughing, rather than something sentimental and warm. 

But now there’s a change in Quinn’s demeanour, the softness of her voice finally matching with her words, the comfort enveloping Kurt, trying to fix the wound rather than leaving it to him. Kurt used to think friendship was just simple little remarks and looks that could communicate and knowing the history of each other, but he realises it’s so much more than that. Brushing off words is so much different to soothing them. 

And so instead of going back to the boring talk about relationships and love and worry, Kurt just says “thank you, Quinn.” and Quinn just smiles. It’s not for the advice, it’s for so much more than that. Kurt knows she knows that too. 

And when he goes to sleep he’s thinking abou—

_They’re walking through a wildflower field._

_A small hand in hers, wrapped around her index and middle finger. Trailing along behind her._

_“Come on, honey. Come sit down.”_

_Her voice is soft, smooth like silk. Soothing._

_Kurt skips happily beside her, flopping down on the rug as she lays it on a clearer patch of grass with a single oak tree shading them from the warmth. He grins when she laughs at him spreading out fully, trying to take up all the space. Giggles when he feels a nudge at his side because it tickles, and looks up as his Mommy is gesturing for him to move over, long cotton dress flowing slowly in the breeze, easing the harsh rays of heat shining on their skin. He moves for her, edging to the side so there’s space for her, sitting up and picking at a few of the wildflowers around them._

_He picks up a bright yellowy looking flower, quite small but shining brightly from the beams of the sun - so bright even, that his eyes hurt a little and he has to close them for a moment, then opening them again and the shine seems less radiant._

_“Do you know what that flower is called, Kurt?” His Mommy - Elizabeth - asks, her head turning to him as she lays on her elbows, smiling at him._

_Kurt doesn’t know the answer, so he mumbles a little “No, Mommy.” and keeps his eyes focused on the yellow flower, twirling it between his finger and thumb._

_“Well, Kurt,” Elizabeth says, picking one of the yellow flowers surrounding them for herself and examining it like Kurt is doing, “these flowers are called buttercups. And if you hold them to your chin… they tell you how much you like butter.”_

_Kurt looks at her for a moment, wide eyes taking in the information with awe, then says “Can you show me, Mommy?”_

_Elizabeth smiles, ruffling his hair, her metal bracelets jangling as she does, and Kurt makes his face go all scrunchy, doesn’t like the way it’s all messed up. Then, his Mommy explains._

_“If I do it on me…” She says, holding the buttercup up to her chin, “If my chin has gone really yellow then it means I love butter. But if it isn’t very yellow then I probably don’t like butter, and if it’s not yellow at all then I hate butter.”_

_“Mommy, you_ love _buttercups!” Kurt says, pointing to her now yellow chin, the sun reflecting the brightness of the colour._

_His Mommy laughs and moves her buttercup to Kurt’s chin. Her face goes very inquisitive for a while, examining._

_“Hmmm. Well, I’d have to say you like butter only a little bit.”_

_“But I love butter!”_

_“I think you do too.” Elizabeth hums, and Kurt thinks that maybe she’s remembering when they made cakes a couple of days ago and Kurt couldn’t stop eating the butter. “Maybe this one doesn’t work very well.”_

_Kurt giggles again, “You’re silly.” and Elizabeth pulls him into her arms. It’s a little uncomfortable - Kurt feels all lopsided and his face is pressed awkwardly into her side, but he likes it there nonetheless._

_He thinks that his Mommy is very clever - she knows so many things. Kurt hopes he’ll know a lot of things like her too when he’s older._

_“Mommy,” he asks, head tilting up to her face. She’s still holding the same faulty buttercup between her fingers, watching it as he speaks._

_“Yes, honey?”_

_“What other things do you know about flowers?”_

_Elizabeth is quiet for a while, thinking about something Kurt doesn’t know. Then she looks down at him, a smile of adoration painted across her face, then speaks, “You mean about wildflowers?”_

_Kurt learnt about the word ‘wildflowers’ a while ago. He nods._

_“Well…” Elizabeth begins, “all these wildflowers that are sitting around us now are actually weeds. Weeds are dangerous to other plants because they take over all the space to grow. Which is quite unfair for the other plants who don’t grow just as well, because they should have a chance to show who they are too. But lots of people decide that the wildflowers all look really pretty together, all the yellows and pinks and blues and all the other pretty colours. So people decide to keep them there. Because it’s less effort to look after them and care for them and water them every day and give them sunlight because wildflowers can grow pretty easily by themselves without any trouble, and forgetting about all the other plants because they’re harder to care for._

_“Only special, important people realise how important all the other plants are too. They might need working on, they might take more effort to look after and water and give sunlight but with time they’re just as beautiful. Maybe even more beautiful. Because in a field of wildflowers, only the most loved and looked-after plants will properly shine through and grow._

_“You are not a wildflower, Kurt. You are a person, and you are beautiful and smart and you care about the word and you want to grow. Don’t let all the other wildflowers outshine you. Be who you want to be. Grow higher than all the others.”_

_A comforting rub of her hand back and forth across Kurt’s arm, and he whispers, contentedly, maybe a little sleepily under the warm afternoon glow of the sun, “Love you, Mommy.”_

_“I love you t_

There’s a cold sweat on Kurt’s forehead as he jolts awake, eyes wide open from the shock.

It wasn’t a dream.

The memory is one that’s kept locked in a safe in the back of his mind, nearly forgotten like it was hidden with amnesia - one single wake up call to make him remember again.

His wake up call was Blaine.

Kurt can remember that day so clearly, now - his mother dragging him on a walk, despite his groaning because he was scared he would get mud on his new skinny jeans, only age five and so unaware of himself and all the bad things in the world.

He realises how much his Mom must’ve known he was gay - _‘don’t let the other wildflowers outshine you. Be who you want to be’_ \- and his heart _aches._ If she was alive, if she was– 

He can’t think about that now. His heart was dropped when his Mom died. She dropped all the hope for him. He can’t keep thinking about that.

He knows what he needs to do.

*

Blaine Anderson is sitting on the same swing, in the same park, at the same time they had their first meeting there, suddenly spilling their hearts out even though they didn’t know each other at all. 

He looks just the same - the curly hair, the piercings, the painted nails (now a dark maroon colour but hardly different to black only if you properly focused), And he’s reading a book - which surprises Kurt because Blaine’s never shown any interest in books before, but neither has he in front on him either, even if books are something so all-consuming to him.

Kurt’s not expecting to see him there, wasn’t planning to meet him for another few days. But he’s there. And he looks beautiful.

He’s not the one to speak first.

“You ever read Wendy Cope?” 

Kurt’s mind flicks back to all the Wendy Cope poems he’s read over and over. Yes, he’s read Wendy Cope’s poetry. The simplicity of it all, the way she writes - how she doesn’t trap her words in confusing metaphors and similies but just pours her heart out onto the page like it’s the easiest thing to do. And it doesn’t sound shitty. It doesn’t sound rushed or boring. It’s perfect. The simple rhymes, the straightforward words of ‘this is how it is.’ He admires her.

“I may have read a few of her poems, yes.” 

He has three of her books at home. 

Blaine looks at him, turns his head around so he’s facing him now, “Can I read this to you?” He asks, gesturing to the anthology in his hand.

Kurt chuckles a little, a soft sound as he comes to sit next to Blaine on the swing - a silent sign of approval as he takes the packet of cigarettes from his pocket, offering one to the curly-haired boy, a quick smile appearing on his face momentarily when Blaine takes it, lighting it with the same lighter he used when they first slept together, Kurt remembers. It’s somewhat overwhelming to him all the little things he remembers and still knows about Blaine. 

Once they’ve both taken the first inhale of their cigarettes, Blaine starts to read, voice sounding so much different to how it usually does - more bothered about life and the consequences and the beauty. 

“There's not a Shakespeare sonnet  
Or a Beethoven quartet  
That's easier to like than you  
Or harder to forget.

You think that sounds extravagant?  
I haven't finished yet -  
I like you more than I would like  
To have a cigarette.”

Kurt knows that poem so well, _Giving Up Smoking._ It’s one of his favourites. 

“I’ve heard that one before.” He says, coldly, a little confused now at what he’s doing here or what Blaine’s intentions are.

He’s still trying to put the diamonds back together.

Blaine scoffs, standing up from the swing now, big boots clomping on the tarmac. He turns to Kurt. head shaking slightly like he’s in denial. 

“You haven’t talked to me in months.”

“You didn’t deserve to be talked to.” 

The words fall silently on the ground, laying between them like a barrier. Blaine’s suddenly very silent, unsure of what to say next, head cocked to the side as if he’s trying to make sense of what Kurt just said. Kurt’s not worried. He doesn’t worry. He can’t worry. 

His Mom always taught him to stand above the people who hurt him. This is just what he does.

Blaine’s movement is minimal, sticking to the same spot awkwardly, not sure where to put himself, and it makes Kurt think of that night, the hair dye, the ‘hey handsome,’ the crying into—

Don’t think about that don’t think—

Blaine says, “You know I’m sorry, Kurt.” and it’s so obvious, the love is so obvious to Kurt because for once he cares - for once he suddenly cares about everything. He cares about his Mom, his dad, he cares about Blaine, he cares about _missing_ Blaine. And it just hits him. 

He’s speaking before he’s aware of it.

“…I like you more than I would like to have a cigarette.” And the way he says it is like he’s still figuring it out for himself, after years of searching and searching now he’s finally come to an answer. And it’s scarily, fearfully, breathtakingly simple.

Blaine frowns at him, looking down at the cigarette he’s holding between his fingers like that will answer what Kurt’s intending to say. And Kurt wants to laugh at him; suddenly their whole past dynamic seems so stupid to him, so fake; the waiting and the stopping and the snide comments. It just doesn’t make sense to him anymore. 

Blaine asks, “What are you talking about?”

Kurt doesn’t want to explain this anymore. Sincerity has never seemed like a good thing to him, because the first time he experienced sincerity (where he really understood it anyway) was at his mother’s funeral, and nothing about that seemed sincere at all. Half-caring comments of ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ that meant nothing to him but the fact that his Mom was gone. 

But now, he realises, sincerity is something so important for things to work. Sincerity is honesty. And honesty is forgiveness. And he needs to be honest.

“When you said those words to my Dad, I didn’t know whether to be angry that you told him all my feelings about him or happy that you did. And then you said… _that._ ”

Shifting on his feet now, Blaine’s eyes are wide and sorrowful, empathetic and maybe a little regretful, but he doesn’t say anything, just watches Kurt.

“And I… I was so… surprised at you but then I couldn’t stop thinking and thinking and my Dad stopped saying all those things to me and I felt like… like someone had stabbed my chest and all this hurt was spilling out. But I think,” Kurt pauses for a moment, thinking, “I think that was what I needed. And… I— I also think…” 

Blaine whispers, “Think what?” and moves towards him slightly, smoke puffing through his nostrils as he breathes.

“I think I love you too, Blaine.” 

Kurt looks up at Blaine when he says it, and everything changes. It’s like a supernova, all the stars crashing together, creating light and colour and _newness_ from such an impact. And all the diamonds are falling into place again, the wounds healing, everything working as it should. And Kurt’s not struggling to work out what pieces go where or how they fit together, because everything is so _clear_ to him now, like the smell of the earth after the rain has fallen. Like the diamonds have fixed themselves. Because Kurt said Blaine’s name and told him he loved him. And Blaine heard him. And they’re staring at each other in silence. 

Hardly coherent, “I love you.” and then Blaine’s walking fast towards him, quickly snuffing out his cigarette and grabbing the sides of his face and pulling him into a kiss. Kurt’s arms wrap around his neck, trying not to break it. And it’s soft, it’s sweet, but it’s harsh. Like everything finally means _everything._ And when they break apart, Kurt is speaking a mile a minute.

“I want us to be together. I… I want to run away with you and we can get out of here because you know neither of us owes this shithole anything, maybe apart from this park because we met here and I did say ‘I think I love you’ but I want you to know I _completely_ do love you, I do, I really do, I’m in love with you and if you’re not okay with that then it’s—”

“Kurt!” Blaine slows him down, putting his hands on his shoulder. “I’ve loved you since that night you came over to mine at one in the morning. Stop. Slow down.”

Kurt’s still breathing fast, just looking at Blaine like he hung all the stars in the sky, and everything feels… light. And suddenly his heart is warm, like the diamonds have been put right back where they should be, the constant drip, drip, drip of blood trapped back in and floating around him, letting him breathe, giving him oxygen. He feels like he could do anything, like the first breath after being underwater for so long, salt wiped out of his eyes.

He breathes again, calms himself, and even the air feels clearer, less hazy, less humid. “You know that poem? _Giving Up Smoking?_ That you just read me?”

“Yes?”

“I think that was written for us.”

Blaine smiles because the words are so alike to them - _‘easier to like than you or harder to forget.’_

Kurt continues, “Wendy Cope once said, _‘People who have never been addicted to nicotine don't understand what an intense love poem it is.’_ And I used to just find that funny because I… I never used to understand what love _was,_ but I knew what it was like to smoke and I just found that… _funny._ Now it just… it makes so much sense to me now. Like it… like it means something.” 

There’s just a small watery smile and a shake of Blaine’s head as he goes, “I love you so much.”

So much sincerity, but it doesn’t scare Kurt anymore. Sincerity is honesty. Honesty is _trust._ These things mean something. 

He chuckles softly, looks down as his boots, “It’s how Wendy copes.” he laughs, and Blaine’s heart hurts for him and he has to laugh too. Because he knows this. He knows the need for smoke in his lungs, but he feels, everyday… he feels the need for Kurt. And they just balance each other out.

He just can’t stop himself laughing with Kurt. So he repeats him, “It’s how Wendy copes.”

And there are still so many worries in the world, like Kurt’s Dad and Blaine’s future with Kurt, and how some people care too much that it hurts others and how some people care too little that it hurts too. 

But suddenly everything means everything, and maybe they’re both okay with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading, hope you enjoyed! please leave a comment - would be highly appreciated <3

**Author's Note:**

> In case you didn't read at the beginning, I'll be posting this fic in three parts. Next Chapter will come two days from now, and the last one will come two days after that, just because I like making you all suffer :)))) please leave a comment and kudos !!


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